Snakes and First Dates and Fresno ... Oh My!

How can I even begin to describe what an incredible week this has been?  Let's begin with, as most of my interesting stories go, a man ... a man whom I felt I needed to be with and the stars aligned to allow me the opportunity ... a man who lives in, of all places cursed on this planet, Fresno, California ... but it was my birthday weekend after all and that being the case, I can do whatever the fuck I want to do ... and so I did ... I drove 2 hours and 45 minutes to Fresno ...

But let's not focus on the relationship with the man ... I only mention it to create a setting ... a reason for my being in that God-forsaken hell-hole ...

So bear in mind that this is a first date and we decide to go kayaking on Lake Millerman? Middleton? Mulligan?  Hell ... just can't get past that mental block.  Well, whatever ... that body of water they call a reservoir.  So paddled for about a mile or so.  Then we beached ourselves for a bit, to talk, to snack, to gaze, and then prepared to head back.  He'd already launched and I was turning my boat around to self-launch when the first thought that sprang to mind was, "What the hell?  Those are some hellacious thorns!"  Within the next millisecond this little bastard comes slithering out from underneath my foot and dashes off faster than a 15-year-old boy after hearing, "I'm pregnant," from that one night stand he had at that frat party he crashed.

So what do I do?  Well, I screamed like a little bitch ... what else?  And yes, in spite of all my bravado, I fessed to him that I was scared ... not of dying necessarily ... but of dying in Fresno ... in such an incongruous manner ... my life is supposed to end in a blaze of glory ... and not only that, this was our first date ... and dying would definitely guarantee there would be no second, which would just suck!

So the man and I make a judgement call to paddle back to the launch site where we knew there'd be help ... and sure enough there was help in the form of the park ranger, two lifeguards, one on each arm taking vitals, and 2 EMTs ... all under 35 ... all rather cute ... my foot's on fire, and all I can think of is that here I was, in cougar heaven ...

Sometimes it's really good to know my warped sense of humor remains intact even in the most dire of circumstances, but hey!  How often does an over-50 phoenix become the focus of attention of five adorable young play things ... ok ... ok ... ok ... I did not plan this, but it definitely couldn't have worked out better ...

Ambulance takes me to the ER, and the EMT and I have an interesting conversation.  I'm giving her the information she asks for, and then she shows me various images of reptiles, and lo and behold ... there's the tell-tale diamond-shaped head of a rattlesnake ... identical to the one sported by that little fucker who dared sink his little fangs in my toes.

So the ED doc says an ICU admit is necessary and they don't know for how long, but management of my care has now fallen into the realm of ... tan ... tan ... taaaannnnnn ... Poison Control ... and they say I need anti venom STAT and constant monitoring of blood and vitals until they deem me suitable to leave ... sigh ... the prospects of that second date are disappearing fast over the horizon ...

My foot, by the way, has now taken on the appearance of a gorgon ... or maybe an inflated balloon with five fat nubs sticking out of the top, those nubs being my toes.  On top of that, my entire face has started to tingle, and all I can think to ask is, "Is one side of my face drooping?" and hope to G'd I wasn't slurring or drooling because that's all I needed, right?  To stroke out?  Definitely hot!!  But thankfully no, said the RN, that's a common side effect.  Sadly, it was the same sensation I get after a couple fingers of scotch, but I didn't have that warm fuzzy feeling I always get from a couple fingers of scotch ... of course not .... because I didn't have any scotch ...

Let me tell you about the ICU ... I'm definitely not the ideal patient for this setting.  And why?  Because I was mobile, I talked, I ate, and if I wasn't laughing at the absurdity of this whole situation, I was complaining about the food.  I'm sure they prefer their patients unconscious, intubated and vented.  I think what bugged them the most were the multiple times I had to ask them to disconnect me from the monitors so I could get up to pee. And I insisted on getting up because I was not about to overflow yet another bedpan!!!  After being flushed earlier with two bags of normal saline ... well ... where did you think all that was going to go?  And what did you think would happen if I'm given a bedpan the size of a teacup???  Fortunately my mobility made it easy for the nurse to change all my bed clothes as well as wash me down and put me in a new hospital gown because I was literally soaking in my own personal little flood zone ...

Naturally, the food folks were ill prepared to actually feed anyone in the ICU ... I could chew after all ... so they sent me something they called turkey covered with this yellow mire they insisted was gravy ... all of which was an insult to my paleo-accustomed digestive system, which then proceeded to rebel exactly six hours later.  So the nurse asks me, "Formed or unformed?"  I should have lied because my response generated the dreaded "Well, you're going to be put into isolation."  WHAT????  But it was that fucking gravy!  There's no C diff going on over here ... IT WAS THE GRAVY!!!!  One just shouldn't argue with the night nurse ...

So the first night passed with me hooked up to a blood pressure monitor that took my BP every hour on the hour ...every ... hour ... on the ... hour.  Sleep just wasn't going to happen ... definitely not with the added perks of 11 p.m. and 4 a.m. blood draws ... now I know why folks get sick in the hospital ... you're not there to rest; you're there to suffer the indignities of a breezy hospital gown, needles shoved through whatever vein looks juicy enough to milk, suffer intestinal disturbances from bad food ... I also believe the lucky ones go there to die ... or simply remain in a coma until it's time to be discharged ...

But throughout all this, there is a silver lining ... several silver linings, in fact.  I was reminded that I am blessed with great friends who sent me lots of love and well wishes.  I actually saw the results of years of swimming and clean eating in the shape of a 48 bpm average heart rate and 110/60 blood pressure.  I learned that I can maintain a great attitude even through circumstances that would have put others in an unending state of panic.  I am resilient!  I laughed more in the two days as an inpatient than I had in a long time.  Laughter is truly the best medicine.  The nurses came in on Tuesday morning to sing Happy Birthday to me. The man saw me in all my glory whilst in a hospital gown, sporting a massive tangle of hair, unwashed and he still came to visit ... with a Carl's Jr. burger even ... it could only get better from there, right? The man also proved to be gentle, caring, strong and protective, brave and clear-headed in an emergency, and sweet and tender ... sigh ...

I'm home now, none worse for the wear.  I'm happy to be with my sons and enjoying their hugs and kisses.  I'm ecstatic to be sleeping in my own bed, attached only to my body pillow.  My primary physician proclaimed me fit as a fiddle.  I'm back in the pool and back in my boat, although my reflexes aren't as quick, my ankle doesn't rotate fully, and the top of my foot is still tender ... but time will fix these minor quirks and all should return to normal soon.  I've got Nationals next weekend and I've changed my focus to be on just cheering for my team mates, lauding their successes and enjoying their company. (Go, Creek!) After being out of the water for five days, two of which were spent in bed, I'm not expecting to post any stellar times, which is actually okay -- the stellar times will just happen at the World Games in Montreal.

And I now have a nickname ... guess?  Snakebite ... not my idea, but I kind of like it ... it's kind of cool and edgy ... and I like cool and edgy.  I'm also going to have a rattlesnake tattoo inked on my foot, with the fangs right by those toes.

All in all, this is the most memorable birthday I've ever had, and to be honest I don't think I'd trade these memories for anything in the world.  The good that came out of the past week far outweighed the bad.  But don't get me wrong, I don't intend on getting bitten by a rattlesnake again ... once was enough, although I am definitely going to play the "I got bitten by a rattlesnake" card for quite a while.

Still ... I am really hoping for that second date ...

But the last time I dated, rotary phones were high-tech ...

Upon being freed from my 25-year thralldom five years ago, I was ill prepared for how much dating had changed while I was quarantined ... the internet had made its appearance and flourished during those 25 years; you either have a smart phone or you're fodder for clinical research; TV screens span greater than 50 inches and yet be only 3 inches in depth; cars  are running on either gas or electricity or both; there's an African-American in the White House; I can listen to music on my computer, which has a small footprint on my desk rather than require an entire refrigerated room to operate; let's not even talk about the Cloud ...

It used to be your gal pal's boy pal would have a friend who had a friend, who knew a guy who was in town for a couple weeks, and would you like to meet him and double/triple/quadruple date?  So then you meet this man, who may or may not even look like someone whose hand you'd even want to shake, much less give him your phone number.  Or he could actually be cute but married.  Or he could have teeth that rival Mr. Ed and you can't really tell if he's looking at you or not because he's so cross-eyed, but he's sweet as can be.  That was your quandary.  I could handle that ... kind of ... 

So then I come face to face with this "online dating" shitstorm.  What the fuck is that all about?  You meet men online?  From just about anywhere in the world?  Not just your local dive bar?  So, okay, I'll play along ... seems that for the way my life was at the time, there were not too many options available to me ... I've lived in this town for way too long, and most of my friends here are married.  Not to mention a dearth in this town of intelligence quotas that range above shoe sizes ...

I go to work on my profile ... and I think it's pretty fucking amazing myself ... it's well written, amusing, shows that I don't take myself too seriously, and also tells a lot about me without revealing all the really deep shit  that could be TMI too soon ... just enough for a man with some semblance of savvy to find interesting ... and there are pictures, ones that make me look somewhat attractive, dare I say sexy? Nothing I'd be embarrassed to show Mom or even my kids, shots of me doing things I like to do, sporting different looks and whatnot ... 

And so now I "shop."  All I can say is, "HOLY CRAP!"  There's a gajillion profiles to select from, profiles that list their don't-wants and must-haves and should-bes and then the standard requests for no baggage, no drama, no games, no whining, no gold diggers, no long distance, be tall, be short, be skinny, be curvy, be blonde, be a redhead, be athletic, be young, be old, be their type, be their dream girl, be their partner in crime, be their soulmate, be their "one" ... they list their endeavors, their jobs, their riches or lack thereof, their fame ... they're easy going, laid back, living life to the fullest ... they love to laugh, love the beach, love the mountains, love the desert, love their 9'ers (or Raiders), love their A's (or Giants), love their kids, love to camp, love the gym, love to hike, love to bike, love to ski, love the finer things, love to travel, love to cuddle on the couch ... HO HUM ZZZZZZZZZ ....

Where the hell is the originality?  The thought-provoking words?  The little innuendos that make an intelligent woman smile?  The charm?  The wit?  At this point, even some sarcasm?

And who doesn't love to laugh?  Who doesn't want to live life to the fullest?  And as for the finer things in life? I don't know too many men who, as youths, wanted to grow up to be drunken winos on skid row.  Laid back?? Can you say COUCH POTATO!  Easy going??  Can you say LAZY!

Then there are the MARRIED men who are in an "open" committed relationship ... what kind of fucking oxymoron is that -- open committed?  open exclusive? Or how about exclusive non-committed?  Have the definitions of committed and exclusivity changed in the 25 years that I'd been cloistered?  And polyamory?  Ay caramba!

You there ... yes, you ... you CURRENTLY SEPARATED guy!  Are you even in a healthy frame of mind to date? You're going to latch on to some unsuspecting (or not) woman and dump your garbage from your failed marriage onto her lap?  What the hell is wrong with you?  Besides ... YOU'RE STILL MARRIED!!!  YOU CAN'T HAVE A COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP RIGHT NOW!!!  Get that piece of paper signed and get your shit straightened out before you start trolling dating sites ... W T F!

Now for the pictures that go with these witty (or lack thereof) bits of prose ... and it's saying a lot if these pictures are within the current decade, much less taken within the last 18 months or within the last 45 pounds ...  the pictures of these lonely men (so they say) who all seem to must have just had bilateral cataract surgeries because they're almost always wearing sunglasses.  Or they're standing so far from the camera, you can't tell if it's human or it could have been Big Foot.  Or the dreaded bathroom selfies ... what's that about?  No friends to take your picture?  Then there're the snapshots of their kids, their menagerie of pets, their vacations, their 5-month pregnant bellies emphasized by the fact that they hang over their belts, their shirts on, their shirts off, their ink collection, their boats, their cars, their motorcycles, their sunrises, their sunsets, the places they've visited, the places they want to visit, their friends, their brothers, their mothers and long-dead grandmothers ... and may I please say ENOUGH with the motorcycles? Then there are those really brave souls who post photos of their junk ... not their faces, but simply their junk ... like we haven't already been bombarded with a myriad of eyesores ... a girl can develop a nervous tic or conjunctivitis with all this ...

They should put a warning on these dating sites that the patience of a saint may be required because a girl may have to kiss a lot ... a whole helluva lot ... of frogs before one of them turns out to be a prince ... and hopefully she doesn't get warts or becomes a frog herself in the process ... 

sigh ... breathe, girl, breathe ... this is supposed to be fun ... 

Have I been having fun, you may ask?  Well, you'll just have to read my next post ... 

My Path

They say the spiritual path is a solo one.  This is true.  We must remember that we are our own individual, self-sustainable ecosystem.  We are born alone, and we will die alone.  But that doesn't mean we can't dance intimately with another and experience the depths of that embrace.

 This is my truth. 

Facing Forward

Letting go, to me, is an act of courage, a triumph of spirit.  It is a moment by moment act.  Not just letting go of a person, but letting go of a state of mind, a thought of pain that leads to a feeling of pain that is so powerful, passionate and poetic that it trumps everything else I think letting go of a person is much easier than letting go of pain.

Because once I let go of the pain of missing that person, all that's left is ... nothing ... an abyss of numbness ... along with the knowledge that I'm now alone.  I would come face to face with the belief that I will always be alone, so I hang on ... hang on desperately to that man, to that thought, to that routine ... all in the struggle to not be alone.

I literally have to hold on ... hold on to the hope.  The hope fills the space; the pain fills the void, even if the man can't or won't.

But what if, just what if, instead of hope, I could operate on faith?  Faith that there is a higher plan for me?  Maybe I just can't see it yet through the fog of pain and longing.  What if I just simply trust that what's in store for me is far better than what I'm struggling so desperately to hold on to.  That whoever he may be will show up and, instead bringing of heartache and longing, he'll show up with sunflowers ... and the absolute knowledge that his life, although full, wouldn't be as rich if I'm not in it?  That his days wouldn't shine quite as brightly if I wasn't a part of them?  And why not?  He could be right.

 So I will have faith and face forward, and my spirit will triumph.  I simply have to accept that what I'm facing right at this moment, whatever it is, I can turn my back on it and release it into the universe if I could just have faith.

And I'll be okay.  I will be okay.

 Like my very good friends, my prayer warriors, always tell me, "Let go, and let G'd."

A Perfect Fit

I think relationships are a lot like shoes.

You finally find THE pair that you've been searching for and you're absolutely sure these babies would be a great addition to your wardrobe, but then you find out that the only size available is a size too small for your feet. WTF??

 So you think you can make them work by pushing, prodding, jamming your feet into those too-small shoes.  Maybe if you bent your big toe this way and walked a like a duck, you could make them work.  Maybe if you wore them long enough, they'd stretch out (a whole size???) eventually.  Maybe you can tolerate the discomfort because they just look so good and it would be so worth the blisters.

But how much of this can you really tolerate until your back is messed up from walking at odd angles?  Your knees hurt, and your feet look like gargoyles?  What do you do?  Because you've wanted these shoes for so very long, are they really worth all that pain?  No, not really ... so you send them back ... utterly disappointed and broken-hearted ...

So now you find the relationship you thought you always wanted, and it seemed to be perfect, like nothing you'd ever experienced before.  You finally had everything you desired ... almost ... except for that one thing ... that one thing that made you question those values and boundaries that took you so long to build, affirm and feel good about.

So you try to live with it, by accepting the flaw, by compromising ... by settling  Maybe if you overlook this one flaw, it'll be ok.  Maybe if you don't think about it too much, it'll be ok.  Maybe you can put up with the pain while apart because those brief moments together were so magical and seemingly perfect, and you were no longer lonely, and so it had to be worth it, right?

But then you see that all the work you'd done for yourself, with yourself, to yourself in order to find yourself again is starting to flounder ... your soul is eroding ... your once bright spirit is dimming ... you've exchanged your self-truth for his truth ... self-loathing is simmering, and you're even more lonely ... bitterness becomes a familiar flavor, anger a constant companion ... so tell me, is it all worth it?  Is that relationship ... that man ... worth diminishing your divinity?  What do you do?  Because, other than for that one flaw, you've wanted a relationship like this for so very, very long ... is it really worth all that pain?  No, not really ... so you let him, and the relationship, go ... utterly disappointed and broken-hearted ...

But know this ... there will be another pair of shoes that will make your mouth water and eyes light up ... and this time, they will fit perfectly and comfortably ... all the while looking good, with perfect arch support, a toe box that doesn't pinch, and a height that shows off those beautiful calves and you feel absolutely luscious every time you slip them on ... 

 And know this, just like those shoes, there will be a relationship that will fulfill your true desires without your ever, ever, ever having to compromise your values or re-structure your boundaries.  It will be secure, mutually respectful, loving ... you both will delight in one another ... together, both your souls will soar and your combined light will brighten up the lives that surround you ...

 All you need is faith ... not hope ... but faith ...

Single Resolution

As I look back on the past 365 days, my mind is filled with so many memories that carry with them a mélange of emotions:  absolute happiness coupled with desolate sadness, excitement mixed with resentment, longing muddled with anguish, ecstasy and agony, calm peacefulness and blazing hot anger, childlike hopefulness blended with bitter disappointment … definitely a gamut of feelings that extended from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other.

There is much for me to be thankful for these past 12 months … the love and support of my friends and family, the health and well-being of my sons, opportunities to grow and expand my horizons, conquer old fears, never-before and never-will-again moments of love, passion and bliss, even what I thought would be endless heartache … I am thankful for all of it.

Because by going through it all, and becoming introspective of these experiences and cognizant of my feelings as I lived these moments, clarity of thought returned my focus to self-love and my quest for faith.

So I shall be making no lists for the upcoming 365 days.  I will only have one intention and that is to expand my love of self, for all other goals will fall into place once I have truly loved Sophia for the amazing woman she is.  And it will not be a selfish love, but a selfless one because in loving her completely, unconditionally, without hesitation and without reservation, I will create the space to receive love from and give love to whomever desires to share in my wonderful life.

Welcome, 2014 ... my door is open, as are my arms, heart, soul and mind ...

The Broken Coin

Love between man and woman casts out loneliness.  That is perhaps the beginning and the end of it. I am thinking in terms of Plato's image of the broken coin.  When the other half is missing, love is not there.

In our day and time, of course, it is quite easy to have a marriage based on strong sexual attraction and still be terribly lonely.  Most of our marriages, after the first flush of sex, are like that, if we are to believe most of the polls on the subject.  The divorce figures demonstrate amply that the institution of marriage today imperfectly fulfills our emotional needs and specifically our need for that love which casts out loneliness.

The sexual attraction has, for most of us, little or nothing to do with love at any age.  If it could be thought of as something apart from love or just usefully coexisting with it, there would be a lot less misery about.  The sexual attraction exists for one purpose.  That is not the pleasure it gives us.  It exists for peopling the world with our like.  This is thought to be an ignoble motive in some quarters, where some people with quite a lot of money are being crowded by other people with much less money, and other differences like color and religion.  These people try to trade the joy of procreation for the pleasure of sex.  Most of us find that a rotten bargain, in spite of those fake-joyous zero population growth bumper stickers saying "None is fun."

In its strong form, the sexual attraction exists for about half our life.  This is the time of our youth and maturity, when nature requires studs and mares.  We forget this in our peril.

But before this period of productive usefulness, and during it and after it, there is a positive need to share your life, both outer and inner.  The inability or lack of opportunity to do this sharing is loneliness.  Though some sturdy souls can abide it, loneliness is a most unnatural condition.  In its prolonged and most acute form, it is called desperation.  "I maintain, my brothers, that hell is the inability to love."  Thus spoke Dostoievsky, who knew a lot about the hell of loneliness.  This is the particular hell of not being able to share, not wishing to enter the sanctuary of someone else.

Even the man who is hopelessly in love with an unattainable object is less than lonely because he can people his life with dreams of possession.  Dreams unfulfilled have more to recommend them than the achieved reality as more than one wise man has told us.  The green light at the end of the dock was more important to Jay Gatsby than life itself.  He was a fool in luck.

The sad part about loneliness is not that it is unnatural, but that it has been forced on the lonely by some experience or experiences too terrible almost to be borne and certainly too terrible to look forward to again.  The people who most need love, by one of nature's ironies, are nearly always the persons most often hurt by it.

To be forced into loneliness by neglect or cruelty or consuming love (or, as sometimes happens, all three together) is to suffer the fate of the walking damned.  You are crippled in the worst way.  You are unable to reach out.  If the hurt has been great enough, you cannot even let your hurt be known.  If it has been greater, you turn the face of hate on the world.  The coin will stay broken.

About sex and love, you might like something I heard the other night.  "Think of all the lovers who are no longer friends.  Think of all the lovers who are still friends.  Think of all the friends who were never lovers."